The Detective and His Boswell
by Runa93
Summary: A FRIENDSHIP drabble regarding our favroite duo! Dont worry i'll update regularly! COMPLETE.
1. Afghanistan

**AFGHANISTAN**

Two men.

_"Holmes, this is Dr. John Watson. Dr. Watson, Sherlock Holmes."_

_"How do you do? You've been in Afghanistan, I perceive."_

Two men.

A detective and a doctor.

And a friendship for life.

This is my first time writing a drabble so I have no idea how to write one. Please do be nice to me. Another fact: this is based on Holmes and Watson's FRIENDSHIP. Please do not expect any slashy parts. Sorry that its so short though.


	2. Scarlet

**SCARLET**

"Holmes?"

"Yes, Watson?"

"I do recall you telling me that you disapproved of my manuscript of a 'Study in Scarlet'."

"I do."

"Well, then, why is this copy of the _Strand _on your bed with a page bookmarked?"

"Oh dear. You must have left it in my room."

"Holmes, you know I never go to your room."

"Well, it isn't mine."

"Quite, Holmes. Quite."

_I hope everyone has understood the meaning of this one. If you haven't you can say so and I'll just PM the meaning to you._

_And I would like someone to leave some Drabble __Writing__ tips for me. Please!_


	3. Marriage

**MARRIAGE**

"You disapprove of my choice?" I had asked.

"Not at all" he had replied.

Later, I saw him gazing wistfully at my empty chair by the fireplace and at my bedroom, now emptied of its contents.

_I really cannot congratulate you._

_For me there remains the cocaine._

Forgive me, Holmes. Forgive me, Mary.

I would like to apologize to everyone regarding the relative absurdity of the drabble. Even I have no clear idea what it means. It just came into my head and I had to write it.


	4. Opium

**OPIUM**

"I hope you know the truly horrifying effects of drugs now, Holmes"

"After seeing your friend? Yes, his is a sorry plight."

"Perhaps, you should learn the same thing about cocaine."

"Admirable strategy, Doctor, but I fear that it will not work. Cocaine is not as half as …"

"Holmes, all drugs are dangerous."

"Perhaps you would prefer that I took to opium…?"

"Holmes, please. I would not like to have to get up at ungodly hours to fetch you from god forsaken opium dens all over the city.

"Touché, Watson."

As I am leaving, I see him give a quizzical glance at me, then gently raise his glass.


	5. Wound

**WOUND**

He gripped me by the shoulder and gently raised me as I was overcome by pain in my leg. We stayed like that until my painful gasps had stopped, then he looked at me.

"You are a fool, Watson"

"Why? For accompanying you on a chase?"

"No, for accompanying me on a chase when you have a painful wound."

"It is not that serious."

He looked at me and I knew he did not believe me.

Woo hoo! I finally got it a bit near 100! Yay!

Also I should hope that my drabble style will improve. Give a newbie some time!!


	6. Brother

**BROTHER**

"Watson?"

I hear him but I do not look around. The telegram in my hand has been crumpled in my grief as if by doing so I can proclaim its words null and void.

_Regret to tell you STOP Your brother dead STOP Condolences STOP_

"Watson, come and sit here."

He leads me to a chair, where I collapse. The telegram flutters out of my hand and lands on the floor. I see him pick it up and hear his sharp intake of breath.

A second later, I feel his hand slide through mine and then I am sobbing on his shoulder.

He holds me tight like a brother.

This one is dedicated to KCS and Protector of the Grey Fortress on their awesome fic **A Brother Noble.** Please do not be mad at my absolutely depraved use of your marvelous story. I just wanted to see what would happen if Holmes would have found out about Andrews death during the case.


	7. Christmas

**CHRISTAMAS**

Sherlock Holmes looked suspiciously at the long box I was handing him.

"What, in heavens name, is this, Watson?"

I rolled my eyes and looked at the world's foremost consulting detective in front of me.

"Its Christmas, Holmes. I believe it's traditional to give gifts."

He looked at the present in his hands and snorted something which sounded suspiciously like "Poppycock!"

I sighed and whispered under my breath "Merry Christmas, Holmes." Then I left him holding his knew silver topped walking stick.

Later at night, I grinned to myself as I picked up the wrapped box on my bed and saw Holmes's writing on it.

_Merry Christmas, my dear fellow._

Operation Christmas was a success.


	8. Blood

**BLOOD**

When we came home, he insisted on rebandaging the wound.

When I protested, I found all six feet- two of my friend standing between me and my bedroom.

He said not a word as he tied it up, but I saw the pain in his eyes as he wiped up the blood and gently cleaned the bullet shot. The haunted look from Evans attack had still not disappeared.

I tell him again and again that it was not his fault, that it couldn't be helped, that I chose to fellow him, that he is not to blame.

I don't think he believes me.

_This one is a bit angsty, I'm afraid._


	9. Worst

**WORST**

Sometimes, Mrs. Hudson thought that she must have the worst tenants in all of England.

Really, she couldn't understand how she stood them. Mr. Holmes with his cocaine and completely eccentric habits and all those…_clients_ who came to visit him, really it made her shudder. Each day, she woke up, expecting to find him dead.

And the doctor…well, at least he was a bit better. Poor man, living with Mr. Holmes was enough to drive any fellow lodger around the edge. Not that he was any better; his life in Afghanistan had made him almost as erratic as Mr. Holmes and all that tobacco! Dear god!

And that day they came in through the front door, smiling and laughing. They handed her a Christmas goose, nicely fattened up and went upstairs, hand in hand, laughing and talking. She heard the tinkle of glasses and smiled.

Sometimes, Mrs. Hudson thought that she must have the best tenants in all of Britain.


	10. Fear

**FEAR**

"I fear I really have some scruples taking you tonight, Watson."

"If I may be of some use…"

"Your presence may be invaluable."

"Then I shall certainly accompany you."

"I was afraid of that."

_My take on the scene from the speckled band._


	11. Pet

**PET**

I could not believe my eyes.

Sherlock Holmes, the world's most foremost consulting detective, the man people have called a brain rather then a heart, was sitting cross legged on the floor and was watching a pair of kittens drink some milk from a saucer. He looked up as I entered.

"Oh, good. You are back. Can you do me a favor? Get another saucer of milk, will you? I fear this much will not be enough for our little friends."Saying so he leaned forward and, to my complete amusement, proceeded to tickle one of the kittens under its belly.

I fetched one more saucer and, pouring some more milk into it, placed it before our guests who eagerly pounced onto it.

"Where did our friends come from?"

"Mrs. Hudson found them mewing rather pitifully outside the front door"

"And you offered to take them in?"

"Only for the night. I fancy that I know where they are from. That kind of mud can only be found in the east end of the city. I'll go tomorrow and see to it."He cocked his head and looked at the kittens "They are rather sweet, aren't they?".

I spluttered into my cup of tea. My friend glared at me, then returned to his admiration of the kittens. I sipped my tea, thinking how in a million years I would never hear those words cross his lips.

_Well, when it comes to Holmes, I suppose there are unexplored possibilities._


	12. Death

**DEATH**

Lestrade helped Dr. Watson off the trap. He looked sympathetically at the doctor, whose face was impassive, though strained.

"Thank you, Inspector. I can go on from here."

Lestrade started at the tone of the voice. Or more specifically, the _lack_ of it. He had not known Dr. Watson to be so….so…._emotionless._

Lestrade felt himself wince. The man had clearly been hit hard by his friend's death.

Watson started to walk up the stairs to his Kennigston home. Lestrade watched him go, then remembered.

"Doctor! Dr. Watson!"

Watson turned around inquiringly. Lestrade cleared his throat.

"Uh…you will…testify, correct? In court, that is?"

Watson surveyed him with eyes that were at once devoid of emotion yet dulled with grief.

"Yes."Then he disappeared into the house. Lestrade had turned around and was walking away when he heard a sound that made him halt.

It was that of a man sobbing.

_In answer _to_ a request. Hope it is up to your standard!_


	13. Reunion

**REUNION**

If anyone had told Lestrade that Sherlock Holmes would have returned after three years of apparent death, he would have sent them to Dr. Agar Moore (1) on Harley Street.

But now, he was watching the same scene. Sherlock Holmes, back from the dead, nonchantly smoking a cigarette and talking to a bunch of reporters outside Camden House.

And, behind him, as always, Dr. Watson.

Something about the man disturbed Lestrade. _Doesn't he feel angry? Or at least irritated? His best friend faked death for three years and did not even care to tell him! Yet he is standing there, completely __contented._

Lestrade ground his cigarette beneath his feet.

_Why does he have to be so forgiving all the time?!_

He noted Dr. Watson's smile as Holmes turned around to address something to him. Holmes himself sounded a bit…_apologetic._

_He knows,_ Lestrade realized suddenly _He knows that Watson will forgive him, no matter what._

And, not for the first time, Lestrade felt a great rush of anger towards Sherlock Holmes.

_Does he not know what a precious gift he is mistreating in his friend!_

Lestrade grimaced as he realized why he was angry. Holmes had beaten him again, even while being 'dead'.

Lestrade turned and walked away.

_Well, Mr. Holmes, I hope you learn to respect one of the few people in the world who actually care for you. _

_**Everyone, I'm sorry if this is Holmes negative! I was reading the empty house the other day and I was struck about how **__**Dr. Watson just irrationally forgave him! If it was me, I would have been mad!**__** Oh and from now on I'll only update on weekends. Sorry, but schools restarted and I've gotto get back to work.**_

_** Anyway, this is in answer to a request. Hope you like it, KCS! **___


	14. Violin

VIOLIN

"You play it?" I asked, looking at the instrument lying on his lap.

"Yes" he said, holding up the Stradivarius. "My art is not entitled to deduction alone."

I listened, fascinated as he played a few notes.

"I would like it very much for you to play it for me." I said when he had finished playing.

He tilted his head and regarded me, then smiling softly he set the bow on string. I leaned back and closed my eyes.

It was pure, beautiful crystalline music.

"Wonderful" I said, when he had finished. "Your friends must enjoy this a lot."

"You are the only one." he said.


	15. War

WAR

That day the newspapers were full of the tensions between France and Germany.

Holmes gave them but a fleeting glance, skimming over the headings, then throwing it down and closing his eyes. I picked it up and looked at the dismal news.

Holmes watched me from the corner of my eyes.

I read about the tensions, the chances of a war, the need for more soldiers and doctors.

I smiled a bitter smile.

Abruptly, Holmes held his hand out.

"The paper, if you please, Watson."

I handed it to him, feeling mildly surprised. He cut out the news of the war and soldiers and I reached out to hand him his scrapbook. But instead he folded the clippings twice, and then threw it into the fireplace.

I looked at him, then said softly "I am not going to war Holmes. I can assure you."

He said nothing but watched the paper burn.

_Please do no ask about this fictitious war. I had to write something like this and I couldn't think of any wars. As I am too lazy to do research, I had to make up a war. But as somebody once told me, this is __**my**__ fic, so I can do what I please with it, so there!_

_If you like it please review! _


	16. Letters

LETTERS

**Holmes POV:**

It was a spring day in March.

And I was sitting in Watson's bedroom staring at the giant trunk in front of me.

Every year, I dread the coming of this day. Mrs. Hudson drags Watson and me out and forces us to help her in spring cleaning. And every year it means I have to clean Watson's room while Watson cleans mine.

But I've never seen this before.

It was wedged in between his bed and the floor which explains why I had never noticed it.

By the various stamps on it, I understood it to be his military trunk.

I sighed and got to my feet. I never do anything by halves so I set to open the giant trunk.

The first thing I noticed was the dust. Then, as I brushed away the dust-induced tears, I saw the smaller box.

It was right on the top and the relative cleanliness of it as compared to the rest of he trunk proved it to newer.

Stifling my curiosity has always been difficult, so I opened the box.

I was faced with a collection of letters.

On top of the larger pile, I noticed written in Watson's military handwriting: _Holmes_.

And on top of the other, smaller pile: _Mary_

My breath caught in my chest. Slowly I fingered my pile, which I noticed contained every single letter, telegram or missive that I had ever sent to him. The last being the note that I had left him in Reichenbach.

My vision suddenly blurred before me, and to my absolute mortification I found that I was crying.

I rubbed the tears away. Sherlock Holmes does not cry.

From below me, I can hear his voice telling Mrs. Hudson that his job is done. Now he is mounting the stairs. I look at the letters in my hand and slowly putting them back in the box, I lock it and push it back under the bed.

The past demons are gone. My Boswell has me now and I have him. There is nothing to look back at anymore.

_I know this in __**no way**__ is even technically near a drabble. It is way too long, I know. But please be nice to me and pretend this is? It's too short to be one shot you see._


	17. Ill

ILL

They are sitting in a train, bound for home. It has been a successful case and, as usual, Holmes is sunk in though and Watson is looking out of the window.

It is the cough that alerts him.

A soft cough which Dr. Watson utters floats in the air, and then dies away. It is followed by a few more and Holmes looks sharply at his friend.

Watson smiles at him. "Something was stuck in my throat."

Holmes nods and then returns to his brooding.

A dozen more coughs break the silence.

Holmes looks up in time to see Watson cover another cough. His cheeks are flushed and perspiration stands out on his forehead.

Holmes leaps to his feet and puts his hand on Watson's forehead.

"I'm alright, Holmes. Really."

"No" says Holmes hoarsely and paling a little "No, you're not."


	18. Friends

FRIENDS

Holmes sits in the waiting room, while the doctors fuss over Watson inside. He can just make out his friends pale face and weak voice while he answers the doctor's questions.

And a thousand questions whirl around his head.

_Why did he not tell me? Why?! I would have never brought him along if he had! I cannot afford to risk his life and health like this! Doesn't he understand?!_

Later, the doctors tell him it is a simple case of overwork, the fever will go in a few days, that he has nothing to worry about.

But he does. He does more then they think.

He looks at Watson and asks the same question. He asks it angrily, furiously, asking why his dearest friend would risk his life like that.

Watson smiles and looks at him. His voice is soft and gentle.

"We are friends. Holmes. That's why."

_I think there is all too much Watson torture gong on __here(__not that I mind really). Next __chappie__ is going to be Holmes torture! _


	19. Spiders

SPIDERS

"Watson"

I looked around to see Sherlock Holmes standing quite still by the mantelpiece and this ashen complexion told me that something was wrong. I closed the distance between us in a few steps.

"Holmes! Good Lord, What is the matter?"

He took a long, shuddering breath.

"Watson, if you would have the goodness of removing this…this…_vile_ …thing from my hand, I will be most obliged to you."

I looked at his hand, which was resting on the mantelpiece, clutching his pipe. On it, was a small spider.

I blinked at it and looked at Holmes.

"You want me to remove the spider?"

"Yes!" hissed the world's foremost consulting detective. "And be quick about it!"I quickly picked the spider of his closed fist, and set it out on the window sill. I then quickly looked away, trying to do my best to stifle my laughter.

Holes had started to flush in embarrassment.

"You're not going to let me forget this, are you?" he said, looking at me.

"Definitely not." I said, as a slow grin spread over my face.


	20. All

ALL

The bunch of rogues snickered as their leader strode up to the man standing at the very middle of the room.

"Holmes's friend, eh?"

"Yes."

The man did not look afraid in the least, perhaps tense, not afraid. His eyes swept over the people surrounding him. Atleast ten to fifteen of them leered aback at him. The leader grinned when he saw the look.

"Got more then you bargained for, eh, Doctor? Mistake of Holmes to send you here."

The man looked on fearlessly as the leader pulled a long metal rod from his back. He grinned the doctor.

"Lets see how much you have in you, eh, Dr. Watson?"

A short fight later, the leader emerged wiping a bloody hand and wincing as he touched his head. "'E's a tough one." He muttered, but looked with satisfaction at the moaning figure on the floor. He strode over to it and poked with a booted foot.

"Is that all?" he laughed, and the group jeered. Nobody saw the silent figure slip in.

"Is that all?!" he started laughing and raised the rod over his head for the final blow. As he brought it down, he was stopped short by a blow which knocked him senseless to the ground.

The crowd gasped as the tall, gaunt man straightened, a look of absolute hate and fury on his face.

"Yes" said Sherlock Holmes quietly "That is all."

_I wrote this as I was watching __**The Golden Compass.**__ The same dialogues were used._


	21. Doctor

Doctor

Sherlock tapped the mantelpiece and turned to face the little scene in front of him.

In front of him, sat his client, the distraught Duchess, whose only child had been taken by person or persons unknown. On her left, sat Inspector Lestrade, looking unusually pale. The tall, bulky form of Mycroft Holmes took up the rest of the space.

Dr. Watson was sitting across them, looking at him inquiringly.

Lestrade cleared his throat. "We haven't any leads yet" he said stiffly "The child has been gone for more than a week. We really do need your help."

The duchess emphasized his words with a sob, which Holmes ignored.

Mycroft Holmes glared at his brother. "Sherlock" he said, sternly. His brother sent a glare of equal magnitude towards hi, which clearly read _I do not take cases like this._

"Holmes"

Holmes turned to his friend, who looked back at him. Mycroft could not guess what passes between them but at the end of it Sherlock smiled softly and turned to the Duchess.

"Tell me everything."


	22. Suicide

Suicide

It is raining.

Inside Baker Street there is a sound of breaking glass.

"What the blazes-!"

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are on their feet. Holmes is gripping Watson's hand and has rolled back his sleeve. There, across the wrist, pale but very clearly visible, is a slash mark.

Dr. Watson looks away.

"It was long ago, Holmes. Forget it."

Holmes cannot; he stares at the devilish mark on Watson's hand in horror and rage.

"What the hell is this? When- when did you do _this_?!"

"It was at least three years ago, Holmes. I told you, forget it."

Holmes turns white as a sheet. He lets go of Watson's hand and walks out of the room.

Dr. Watson sinks into the armchair and stares tiredly into the fire.

Sherlock Holmes stands outside, in the rain, drenched to his skin, white as a sheet and shaking. It is hard to tell which is the tears and which the rain.

The rain goes on.


	23. Breaking

**If anybody is cursing me for the last chapter, do please forgive me. I'm the most cold hearted ****fanfiction**** writer alive. Hope this one will make you feel better.**

Breaking

"What did you expect, Sherlock?"

Mycroft Holmes looked at his brother, standing in front of him, drenched, white shaking. He noted the red rimmed eyes.

Sherlock looked at him as if he was insane.

"What did I _expect?!_ Mycroft, I expected him to stay alive, to not give up!"

Mycroft shifted the inkpot on his table. "He is alive. So be happy."

There was a rattle and the inkpot spilled as his brother's hand slammed on the table. "_Be happy?!_ Mycroft, how can you say that?! I've just found out that my best friend attempted _suicide _in the three years I was gone and you-"

"Sherlock."

Sherlock Holmes stops at the tone of his brother's voice.

"Sherlock, you are the most egocentric, selfish, imbecilic being I have had the misfortune of knowing."

He saw his brother start.

"You expect Dr. Watson is at your beck and call, is that correct? You expect him to be there when you leave, to be there when you come back. You expect him to blindly forgive you, to go wherever you please, whenever you please. You expect him to do _whatever_ you please. So congratulations, Sherlock. He has lived up to your expectations so far. "

He saw his brother's pale face blanch even whiter.

"But, Mycroft, I-"

"You think that only you have the right to break, do you, Sherlock?" Mycroft was not aware when his voice had risen but it had. "You are the only one who is allowed to go into depression, to take cocaine, to go into black fits, to shun friend and family?! Are you the only one Sherlock?"

Sherlock's face had gone a deep red. His eyes glittered angrily.

"Mycroft" he said, dangerously "Don't you dare say that. There is nothing-"

"Then why did he try it?!" Mycroft got to his feet and stood facing his brother. "Do you think he does not require support?! Or do you regard him as a constant, always there to support you and take care of you and bring you back from the edge of death? Has he no family? Is he not human?"

If it was possible to kill with words, Sherlock would have been six feet under by now.

"He always stayed with me." Mycroft started at his brother's voice. He had never sounded like this before. "Always. He was always at my side. Even when he got married, he would help me. He was always there."

He sounded like a broken child.

"Sherlock." Mycroft saw his brother look up. There was no tears but such a deep despair and sadness showed in his grey eyes that Mycroft suddenly felt an intense deep sympathy for his brother. God Knows, Sherlock had always been sensitive as a child and now this.

"You were gone for three years, Sherlock." He tried to make his voice as gentle as possible. "Three years and he thought you were dead, gone from his life forever. You were always very close, Sherlock, you must see how much that hurt him. And then, his wife died."

Sherlock looked away.

"He loved her, you know that. God knows Sherlock, he might have broken long ago, but he held on. And, with time he steadied himself, writing stories. And when they ran out, there was nothing to hold him to life anymore. Nobody."

His brother stood, looking out of the window, his hands clenched

"But…he didn't break, Sherlock. Be proud of him. He may have tried to, but he held on. I've seen him during those months." Mycroft looked away from his brother. "Sometimes I wish you would not regard everything as a case Sherlock. Certainly not him."

The soft thudding sounds told him that Sherlock had reached the door. He looked up to see his brother twist the knob. Open the door, leave the building.

The rain hadn't stopped.

**This isn't even a drabble.**


	24. Anguish

Anguish

_Fool!_

A man walked on the London pavements, rain lashing on his shoulders. Passerbys glanced oddly at his drenched figure but he pushed on.

_Idiot! What kind of detective are you! What kind of friend are you! How could you not notice! How could you not tell!_

The man stumbled and nearly fell. He got to his feet and staggered to the nearest alley.

_Is he not human? Are you the only one allowed to break?_

The man brought his fist into contact with the wall.

_You expect him to be there when you leave, to be there when you come back._

He choked down the sobs gathering at his throat.

_Sometimes I wish you would not treat everything as a case, Sherlock. Especially not him._

"I don't" the man whispered "I don't. Believe me, please."

_Then why did he try it?!_

A sob escaped him as he collapsed into his knees.


	25. Crying

Crying

"Holmes!"

Where was he? Where could he have gone?

"Holmes! Sherlock Holmes! Answer me!"

He had looked everywhere. Nobody knew, not Mrs. Hudson, not Wiggins, not the tobacconist, not anybody.

"Holmes, for God's sake where are you?"

Only one place left to try. He turned in direction of Mycroft Holmes house and would have run right past the alley had he not tripped.

As he got to his feet, he saw him.

"Holmes!"

The man looked up. He ran up to him and gripped his shoulders.

"Oh thank god, I found you! Are you alright? You're drenched to the skin! Come on, Mrs. Hudson has got some hot supper ready. Lets go home."

"Watson."

He looked up, puzzled at the dead tone.

"Yes Holmes? What is the mat-?"

He stumbles back and looks at his friend, who is embracing him tightly.

"H-Holmes?!"

"Watson, I'm sorry. Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? For what, Holmes? Holmes? Are you- Are you crying?"


	26. Forgiveness

Forgiveness

"Honestly, Holmes." Watson said, as he put a cold compress on his friend's head. "What on earth possessed you to go gamboling about in the rain? Of course you caught a cold."

Holmes did not say anything; he merely looked at his friend. Watson finished his work and then looked silently back at him.

They sat like that for some time.

Finally, it was Holmes who spoke first.

"Forgive me."

Watson got up and went to his medical bag and started to put his instruments inside. Holmes watched him, anguish and hurt present clearly in his normally inexpressive eyes.

"There is nothing to forgive."

Holmes started as Watson turned around and faced him with a sad smile.

"That was a long time ago, Holmes. It was no where near your fault. Like I said, there is nothing to forgive."

"You're wrong" said Holmes "There is too much to forgive."

He looked at his friend.

Watson sighed and sat down next to his friend.

"If that is so" he whispered "Then I forgive them all."

Holmes smiled, the first smile that day.

"Thank you. My dear Watson."


	27. Funny

**Ok the last few ****fics**** were kind of sad and angsty so everyone cheer up! Here's a funny one!**

"Holmes?"

"Yes?"

"I do not mean to intrude but…."

"Hmm?"

"I do understand that we have a duty to the law and England and I have Never turned down an offer to help you but …isn't this a bit too much?"

"I don't see…it does suit you."

"Holmes!"

"But, my dear fellow, it's the truth! Also, you cannot deny that it will give you an interesting insight into-"

"I don't see how dressing up as the Duchess will give me an interesting insight into the mind of the fairer sex!"

"One of us had to do it and I beat you at chess last night and you do remember that you promised-"

"To help you disguise _yourself_ for the next case! Not myself! Besides, what if somebody happens to see my moustache?"

"Your veil is for the very purpose, my dear fellow. I don't see why you cannot see this as an interesting endeavor. Not many men can have claimed do have done what you are doing- aah!"

"There, that felt much better"

"That was remarkably childish, Watson."

"Pinching you hard on your arm? Yes, most childish."

"And most ungentlemanly."

"You mean most unladylike."

"Of course, your Grace."

"Holmes, I'm warning you. Wait until we get to Baker Street. I was not in the rugby team for nothing." "Of course, my dear Watson. Ah, we are here. Shall we alight?"

"Dear God. Please give me the strength to go through this. Alive."

**I've stopped trying to pretend that any of these are drabbles. Lets call them short stories. Anyway, i would like to apologise for my long dissapearence. Had to go to Kolkata to write an enterence exam. Please accept this peace offering.**


	28. Gone

It has been fifteen years.

Fifteen years since I can claim to have known Dr. John Hamish Watson. Fifteen years of our friendship, companionship.

I have learned to read him so well and him me. We know when we are sad, happy. We know where we are. People have called us the closest of friends, and truly, we are.

Then…where is he? Why can't I understand him anymore? Why has he suddenly closed his mind to me?

He hasn't spoken to me this morning, hasn't said a word. Hasn't offered to join me on a case.

Where are you, Watson?

**I wonder how many people are utterly confused by this drabble and want me to write a sequal.**


	29. Back Again

**Ok, I've just realized that my dates must be seriously messed up. The case which I am talking about here is….oh never mind. So people…PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE DATE IN THE LAST ONE. Once u have read this ****one ,**** Inform me of the correct date and I'll change it.**

**Here be ****the drabble**

When I awoke, Watson was shaking me. His face relaxed into a smile when I looked at him.

"Oh thank God, you are awake!"

The last of my fog in my mind was wiped away.

I sat up and gripped his hand. "Watson? You're still here old fellow? You haven't left, correct?"

He looked at me bewildered. "Of course, Holmes, why would I leave?"

I felt myself relax and fell back to the earth. By the startled exclamation, I know I had frightened my poor chronicler.

"Holmes, what is it?! Are you alright?"

I closed my eyes, and steadied myself. When I spoke, the tremor had still not gone.

"I owe you both my thanks and an apology." I heard my friend start. "It really was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self and doubly for a friend. I really am very sorry."

When I heard my long suffering friends voice, it was shaken to the smallest degree.

"It was my greatest joy and privilege to help you."

I closed my eyes in relief.


	30. Jocelyn

"Holmes."

"Mmm…"

"Please take your mind of your bees and concentrate on this."

"What is it…tell me later…"

"Oh really? You want me tell you later that Lestrade is making huge strides in the Jocelyn case which I believe you are investigating?"

"WHAT!!Give me that!"

……..

"Oh dear god, he is! That imbecile! I wonder how many wrong deductions he has made so far…..many thanks for calling my- wait a minute."

"Finally figured it out have you?"

"How on earth do you know that I was taking this case?! I told the entire world I was retired!"

"Keep trying, Holmes. Keep trying."

**Does anyone want a sequel?**


	31. Years

**Sequel to the last one**

"Alright, Watson, I give up. How on earth did you know that I had taken that case?"

"Deduce it, my dear fellow."

"Watson, this is getting silly."

"Oh, alright. I applied your methods."

"That much was obvious from the beginning; there was no other way of doing it. Where did I slip? I was so sure that I did not show anything."

"You have an egotistical belief in your abilities, don't you? How do you know that there was no other way to do it?"

"Because I am Sherlock Holmes and it is my job to know what others don't. Now tell me, Watson."

"There were several slips you made. Five, to be accurate."

(sarcastically) "Do tell me."

"I'll tell the first four. Your boots, the way you talked, the state of your coat and your eyes."

"I do not see how any of these could have helped you; my boots are perfectly clean, I talked no differently to you today, I never even wore my coat today and my…eyes?"

"The last one was the clincher."

"And it is?"

"The telegram that you handed to me this morning to be sent to the telegram office which stated "Have accepted Jocelyn Case. Do not make any rash moves."

"The telegram-? Wait, are you telling me I gave you the telegram?!"

"Yes. Handed it and told me to send it."

"Oh."

"Getting on in years aren't you, Holmes?"

**This is a double drabble.**


	32. Straudivarius

**Many thanks to Monty Twain for giving me this idea!**

The first time Mrs. Hudson heard the scraping sounds from above, she had bounded upstairs, fearful of finding him experimenting on the new paint she had used on the walls.

On arrival, she had found the room completely intact (as much as it was possible for it to be in the presence of Sherlock Holmes) and his tall form standing near the window holding a violin, running the bow over it like a lover. Next minute beautiful music floated out, and she left grateful for the little peek she had in his life.

Nearly two years later, she returned to the room, only to find the doctor standing there, the Stradivarius in his grip and soft tears in his face.

Mrs. Hudson could have sworn to have heard violin music moments back.

**This is a pretty much random drabble. Try to find some sense in it, will you? **


	33. Strings

**Strings**

"Holmes."

"Mmm?"

"Please put your violin down and listen to this."

"Later, Watson. I'll listen later."

"But, this is important. It's a report from _The Daily News._"

"Hmm…"

"Its about a commotion at wedding yesterday. Listen…"

"Rich people with too much to drink and more then enough idle time, I'll wager."

" '_ At Lord Simon's wedding yesterday to his fiancé, Ms.Hatterton, the only daughter of the American millionaire. Donald __Hatterton__, a commotion by several of the distinguished guests who were said to be intoxicated-"_

" I was right after all. They will never learn, after Lord Simon-"

"_under__ the influence of strong alcohol, overturned chairs and 'frightened half the ladies out of there wits.'"_

_"_- got his fortune, in which, if I may add, I was instrumental,-"

"_It is questionable if His Lordship was in a sober state himself__. Some of the guests at the wedding were-"_

_"_-and of course I wonder how many times his uncles have died to leave him such a –"

" – _Hislordship's__ close friends, Lord Dunhill, Lady __Mackerton__, and of course-"_

_"- _vast fortune. That boy has absolutely no subtlety, I tell you, Watson,-"

"- _the notorious adventuress, Irene Adler, who recently had an estrangement from her husband, Gordon Norton- "_

_"_- and…What!!"

"- _and__ was accompanied by celebrated detective Sherlock Holmes and his brother Mycroft Holmes-"_

_" _What!!!!!"

"- _and__ people must surely question if a blossoming romance is not_ _taking place between Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Ms. Adler-"_

"Give that here!"

……

"Should I drop a line to Mycroft?"

"Yes. Please. And tell him that he has signed his death warrant."

**I'm Evil. Hee Hee.**


	34. Spiders2

**The spider makes ****a reappearance**

"Holmes, do you want some tea?"

Sherlock Holmes looked at me, his eyes still unfocused, as he pulled himself from thoughts of his new case, and turned his attention onto the spread before him. I watched him eat with approval.

"Glad to see my years of training have at least taught you to eat breakfast properly."

Holmes muttered something indistinguishable and pointed towards the pile of letters on the mantelpiece.

"Yes, yes." I sighed, and pulling the bunch of letters, proceeded to read them out.

"A Mrs. Summerset wants you to recover her diamond, interested?"

A shake of the head, followed by the spraying of bread crumbs across the table answered my query. I sighed, and dusting the crumbs of my part of the table, continued.

"The Duchess….No? Alright, Lestrade needs some help with…alright, no." I flipped to the last letter and felt my grin broaden.

"Ah, this should interest you. A Mr. Cuthbert Fullerton needs help in recovering some of his exotic species which have been taken from his 'zoo'."

Holmes looked up, interested.

"Exotic species?"

"Yes, they include a boa, an anaconda, a few species of tree frogs and the crux of his collection, a bird eating tarantula from the Cuba forests."

I finished my narrative with a flourish, and was rewarded with a choke and spraying of what sounded like a mouthful of tea.


	35. Paper

I have it still.

It has been nearly ten years since that fateful day, and perhaps I should throw it away. It after all does not signify anything good.

But I have it still.

After a new case, Holmes and I return home, full of good cheer and occasionally a trifle thoughtful, over the eccentricities of man. But, every time I go up to my bedroom, my eyes are drawn toward my drawer, where lies a little slip of paper, with hardly enough words to fit this page, written by a man who was standing at the edge of death at Reichenbach falls.

To me it once represented the whole of the world. But now-

Does he ever think of it? 


	36. Torment

I never thought that it still tormented him.

Of course, I knew that he was still hurting after my disappearance, he had told me.

But I never knew that hurt still rankled, even a decade later.

Now I am standing in his bedroom, wondering what to say to him, when he awakes. My poor friend lies on his, exhausted with tonight's events. I know his wound still hurts; he need not say all those empty words. I know what Evans has done.

I turn the little slip of paper over my hand and then, almost instinctively, throw it into the fire.

Some demons are better of dead. 


	37. Birthday

I looked at the small wrapped parcel in my hands in some surprise. "When did this come?"

Sherlock Holmes looked up from his chemical research. "Some time after you left. There isn't a return address or name."

"So you can't deduce who it is from?"

"No."

"Oh."

I turned the package over in my arms. There was a slight cut in paper, showing that the user had never done such a task as wrapping a gift before, an inspection of the lower side showed me a brown stain, indicating that person had been smoking furiously as he had done this. Above all, the rather shabby packing showed that it had been done a trifle hurriedly.

I smiled.

"Thank you for remembering my birthday Holmes."

A splutter from the behind told me my guess had been correct.

"I-I beg your pardon, my dear Watson?"

I shook my head despairingly. 

"Of course you do. I wasn't born yesterday,Holmes."


	38. Plaque

It was a tiny plaque, made out of silver, handsome and quite beautiful. The edges were neatly curved and little gold rims added. 

It must have been quite expensive, it might have been small, but it was certainly heavy. But that was not what warmed my heart considerably or brought the moisture to my eyes.

On the plaque, exquisitely carved, out were the words:

_To John Hamish Watson, from his friend Sherlock Holmes_

_For the best and wisest man that I have ever known. _

_Happy Birthday._


	39. Tired

The doctor stumbles through the door of 221B Baker Street, shaking of rain and mud from his clothes. The man at the armchair gets up and helps him off his coat. The doctor looks gratefully at him and mutters something about finishing his report but the detective gently steers him towards the sofa. The doctor sinks in, obviously relieved at the warmth and comfort.

The notes of Bach stir the still air.

And the doctor is asleep.

**Tada! Only one more to go!**


	40. End

The month was August. The year 1914.

John Watson leaned against the wall, looking at Sherlock Holmes. Slowly he lit a cigarette.

"So, you are returning to Mycroft's service?"

A sudden flicker of light told him that Holmes had also lit one.

"Yes."

The trail of smoke rose slowly and disappeared into the night sky.

"I'm sure you'll be fine." Watson's voice was soft and almost sad. Holmes didn't look at him.

"What of you?"He said, throwing his match upon the ground.

"I've re enlisted."

Holmes back stiffened slightly, then relaxed. Another flicker of light.

"I see."

Watson straightened and looked at the vehicle.

"I'll come back, you know."

Holmes also straightened and looked at Watson. For a moment, both friends looked at each other, then Holmes smiled.

"I'll hold your word to it then."

Watson nodded and together both friends strolled, hand in hand, to the vehicle and their unfortunate guest, to the end of an era…

**Finished! Wow that was tough! How do you like it?**


End file.
